Wednesday, December 02, 2015

Some of us colleagues and friends went over to Jungle View once again the other day.
The place is so deeply ingrained in our psyche, that it has become
effectively a default option any time any of us wants to celebrate.
The occasion this time was Ramakrishna Das's wife Ashwathi's first
visit to Cuttack. Poor Ram had a tough time arranging the trip, or
at least, getting all members of the gang to agree on the date and
time. It was not just a matter of prior engagements. In the best
Odiya traditions, the more pious among us observe a strict
vegetarian diet on certain days of the week, on which days they
don't find Jungle View so attractive a proposition. I wonder why.

Winter this year has been unusually warm, but even so, the balmy
mid-November weather made lunch a much more interesting option. I noticed several
changes this time around. The ghastly cloth awning that covered the
central open dining area has been replaced by a smart-looking
prefabricated aluminium roof. This time we opted to sit in a
airconditioned prefab cabins, more out of a desire for privacy than
anything else. In fact, after a point we got them to switch off the
a/c even. And I don't know why I never noticed that big signboard up
there. Nice of them to also write the name in (slightly inaccurate)
Bangla. Or maybe it is because Bengalis frequent the place regularly. Not surprising, given its meat-intensive bill of fare.

I had intended this trip to be a follow-up to my earlier post on the place, that is, to to check out, and photograph, all the stuff I had missed out on the last time. Alas! my grandiose plans were almost completely frustrated. Both Emu and patra poŗā mutton were off that day. I
don't know what they have against patra poŗā; it never
seems to be available though the people there insist it's still a
part of their regular repertoire. The saving grace: they could
muster some hāņdī poŗā mutton. But more on that later. First, a brief digression on the Odiya
word poŗā. The term literally means 'charred' or
'scorched', a singularly unappetising appellation for one of the
most glorious cooking style one can encounter anywhere. Perhaps
'baked on embers' conveys the idea better. Briefly, the idea is
that the thing to be cooked is either placed in some sort of
receptacle (bamboo logs and earthenware pots constitute popular
choices) or wrapped in leaves. Then the receptacle or parcel, as
the case may be, is placed directly on smouldering embers, and the
stuff inside slow-cooks over some hours. The combination of smoke
and direct, yet gentle, heat does all kinds of wonderful things to
the thing being cooked. It enhances the natural flavours of meats
and imparts a delicious smokiness to them, a sweeter, much
more subtle smokiness than a Tandoor or a brazier's naked flames
do. Mutton responds particularly well to this style of cooking. It
remains slightly tough, and firmly textured. And its juices
intensify to impart a rich gameyness. But this is not to say this
method is good only for meats. Chhenā poŗā, to my mind
Odisha's single most monumental contribution to the culinary arts,
is also prepared in this way.

In contrast to the hoopla Jungle View associates with Bamboo
mutton, where the log is brought to the table and the meat
ceremoniously extracted in the presence of the customers, they
tend to serve hāņdī poŗā mutton in distinctly low-key
fashion. hāņdī poŗā literally translates to 'charred (baked,
whatever) in an earthenware pot', but you never actually get to
see the pot itself. What they serve up on the table is nothing
more than a portion of meat on a stain-less steel plate. Even at
first glance, though, differences with Bamboo mutton are manifest.
Its colour is darker, for one, which indicates they don't add so
much turmeric to it. Neither do they seem to use mustard oil,
since it lacks the faint pungency of the latter. Which is perhaps
just as well: the sharpness of mustard wouldn't have gone well
with the deeper, earthier notes of hāņdī poŗā. And it
certainly does exude deep, earthy, even gamey notes. It is also
smokier, and the meat a shade softer too. Perhaps earthenware pots
diffuse heat better than bamboo logs do? Suffice to say that it
has become an immense favourite with me, perhaps even more so than
Bamboo Mutton has. And that's one massive endorsement.

We tried chinguŗi poŗā too. 'Charred Prawns' it translates
to, though it was not clear how exactly the prawns were consigned
to such treatment. The stuff was fantastic too, wonderfully smoky
and all. But I feel they added too much turmeric; tends to take
away something from the seriousness of the eat, if you ask me. But
that is probably because I don't like turmeric all that much, maybe a reaction to being brought up in a typically turmeric-intensive Bengali household. Anyway, the rest of the
stuff we ordered were interesting but not remarkable. We asked for
two types of Dāl, one with
scrambled egg stirred in, and the other without. Rajat, the sole
vegetarian among us contented himself with egg curry (even his wife Nidhi cheerfully tucked into mutton and
prawn). I had a taste of the egg too.
Pretty decent, but not exceptional. All in all, a very pleasant
experience, as the group selfie I took just before we left suggests.
Pleasant enough, but I still wonder: whatever happened to all that Emu
and patra poŗā mutton?

Thanks for the comment :) Emu and Ostrich are different birds. The Ostrich is African, while the Emu is native to Australia. Both birds are being farmed these days, the Emu right within Odisha. So rest assured they don't serve poached animals. Not even poached eggs (as the great Wodehouse once put it). Your sympathy towards the Emu is entirely valid, of course, but thankfully conservation issues don't really apply here.